Shining in the Shadows
by ofhouseelvesandchildrenstales
Summary: Classmate of Lily Evans and the Marauders, everyone is expecting great things from Ravenclaw seventh-year Althea Macnair. But, everyone's choosing a side and soon, Althea will choose hers.
1. Chapter 1

In the courtyard at Hogwarts, the dying, afternoon sun emerged from behind a cloud and dazzled the gathered group of seventh year students and their professors with golden light. They couldn't have asked for a better day for their end-of-year celebrations - the sky was the brightest blue imaginable, and clouds drifted lazily across it. The gathered students were all in their dress robes, chatting and laughing with each other or with their teachers.

"Can you believe we're actually leaving?" they kept saying to one another. Many eyes drifted up to the castle, taking it in with more intensity than usual, trying to burn it into their memories.

But one girl was not looking at the castle, or at any of her fellow students. She was looking down at her feet, holding a goblet of butterbeer and hoping she could retire to her dormitory soon and pack her trunk for the last time.

"Are you alright?" a red-haired girl had made her way over. She wore her usually-straight hair in curls, coiling down one side of her neck from a neat bun at the back of her head. Her dress was champagne-coloured and gauzy. It made her pale skin glow almost opalescent. Lily Evans had never looked more beautiful - James Potter, her boyfriend of the last three months, could be seen a few yards away, looking at her, almost bewildered.

"I'm fine," the other girl lied.

"Al, you look like the world is ending," Lily placed a hand gently on her friend's shoulder, "Tell me what's up. Aren't you excited to be leaving Hogwarts? For the future?"

"Future?" Althea looked up into Lily's face. She, too, was pale, but her hair was dark brown, almost black. Her dress was midnight blue satin, and rather plain. Her eyes were grey and gave nothing away. Althea Macnair could probably have been considered very beautiful, but she didn't draw eyes like Lily. Most people thought she was strange, as quiet as she was. "We have no future. We might not even be alive next month."

"Don't say things like that," Lily said, horrified, "You-Know-Who isn't going to spring up out of nowhere just because we've left Hogwarts. Besides, aren't you going to fight him?"

"Come off it, Lily. You must know who my family are," Althea was unfazed by her friend's passionate speech, "We might be friends at Hogwarts, but for all I know, my uncle might kill you within the next few weeks."

Lily's expression turned cold. She straightened the many-layered skirt of her dress and glared at Althea.

"I just came over to say Professor Dumbledore wants to see you in his office. Now." With that, she turned and walked away, perfectly happy to never see Althea Macnair again.

Althea sighed, wishing she could've explained herself better. She genuinely liked Lily. They'd been friends, in spite of being in different houses. The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws had taken Potions together that year, and Lily had always sat with Althea. She even let her borrow her notes, seeing as she was so good at Potions, and Althea sometimes struggled with the more difficult mixtures. Still, Althea thought, letting her thoughts cool and harden again, she had been right - Lily had chosen a side so forcefully, and she couldn't make the same stand. It was easy for Muggle-borns or people whose families were not Death Eaters.

Outside Dumbledore's office, she took a few deep breaths and knocked on the door. She heard him call for her to enter, and she did, willing her hand to stop shaking. Throughout her seven years at Hogwarts, Althea had never been called before the Headmaster before, and she wondered whether she had failed one of her NEWTs so abysmally that she was being held back to repeat her seventh year or something equally terrible.

"Ah, Miss Macnair, so glad that you could join me," Professor Albus Dumbledore said cordially as Althea stepped into the room, "Please, sit."

Feeling very awkward indeed, Althea went to sit in the chair opposite Professor Dumbledore's desk, facing him over piles of papers and strange, silver instruments. Dumbledore looked at her levelly through his half-moon glasses, his blue eyes unreadable.

"Every year, I have to see more pupils leaving," he said, and his voice was tinged with unmistakeable sadness, "And I have to trust that they have been properly equipped to deal with life beyond this castle's walls. I have to believe that I have done enough…"

Althea wanted to say something. The Headmaster sounded very sad indeed, and yet she still could not work out why she had been summoned to his office on her final day at Hogwarts.

"You see, it is so very easy to keep an eye on you while you're here… but as soon as you leave on the train, your choices are no longer within our control. Even though I know your lives are your own to shape, I still feel partly responsible when my former pupils make the wrong choices." Dumbledore continued, and Althea felt a little shiver of nervousness as he finished his thought - the reason for her summons seemed a touch clearer now.

"Althea, I do not wish to see you make the wrong choice," Dumbledore said.

"Professor, I-" Althea stumbled over her words, "I have not yet… I have to… I haven't chosen what I want to do once I've left school. Not yet, I mean."

"In which case, there is still time," there was urgency in Dumbledore's voice, "Let me speak plainly - I know what some of your family are. I know the pressure there must be on you to conform. But I beg you not to give in. Althea, you are a formidable witch, and you would be a great asset to 'our side', to put it simply." He steepled his fingers and looked at her over their pointed tips.

"I don't think you know the pressure there is on me," Althea said coldly, feeling anger swell inside of her. Dumbledore was just giving her a cleverer version of Lily's lecture. And what was all this about being a 'formidable witch'? If she were that formidable, she wouldn't be living in a shack with her mother, too poor to afford decent dress robes, no prospects for any real future career.

"Oh, I do," Dumbledore said sadly, "And yet, if you wish to believe yourself alone in this world, there is little I can do for you."

In spite of her anger, tears pricked at Althea's eyes.

"What about my mother? If I _were _to join 'your side', as you put it, give up my life to the Order of the Phoenix, what would happen to her, do you think?"

"Your mother could be hidden quite easily, if she did not wish to join us."

"Don't you see? She wouldn't want to be hidden! She would disown me, but he'd kill her anyway! You don't understand at all!"

"Voldemort cannot control you through your family - you are letting him win," Dumbledore said in an uncharacteristically harsh voice.

"Don't! Don't say that name!" Althea cried, "We're not all brave, like you! Noble, like you! We're not all willing to die! Thank you for the offer, Professor. But I won't watch my only family member die so I can assuage your conscience."

She got up and walked to the door, just about managing to keep from sobbing or falling to the floor and begging to be kept safe. Words could not express how much Althea wanted to accept Dumbledore's offer, but she wasn't going to let on. She wasn't going to be weak and give in to that temptation.

"And what of your conscience, Althea?" Dumbledore asked quietly, before she could make it to the door. She stopped cold, her hands shaking and the blood draining from her face. For a second, she tried to think of a reply, but nothing came, so she let herself out of the Headmaster's office and stumbled down the stairs.

The train pulled into King's Cross station rather late the next evening, having been delayed. It was gone ten o'clock, and the sky above Platform 9 ¾ was a dark, inky blue. Althea pushed her trolley along the platform with all the other students, moving slowly in the tide queuing to enter the Muggle station. Her eyes itched with tiredness, and Dumbledore's words still weighed heavily on her soul.

Other students were meeting their families. She saw Lily Evans and James Potter greeting the Potter boy's parents, hugs being exchanged and Lily laughing at something her boyfriend's father said. They all looked so happy, so promising. There was no one to meet Althea. She pushed the trolley wearily away from the crowds, through the barrier and out into Muggle London.

King's Cross was thronging with people. Some she recognized as Hogwarts families, doing their best to go unnoticed amidst the Muggles, but most were just anonymous, oblivious Muggles, theatregoers and tourists, besuited businessmen and tired women pushing prams. They all had somewhere to go at this time of the evening. Althea left her trolley and dragged her trunk into the bathroom with a wonky 'out of order' sign hanging off the door - here, she would be undisturbed. Her feet in a puddle from a leaking sink, she clutched her trunk close to her and got ready to Disapparate.

"Oi! Macnair!"

There was a loud, crashing noise as someone else hurtled down the slippery three stairs into the toilet. She looked up, just about ready to curse whoever it could be, and felt an awful sense of shock when she saw Sirius Black standing there, tall and imposing with his long, dark hair falling into his eyes and his haughty, patrician features lit with a mocking smile.

"Why are you standing in a puddle in an out-of-order loo, Macnair?" he asked, leaning against the wall. Most people would've looked ridiculous leaning against a grimy wall, but Sirius managed to look so totally at ease.

"I'm going home. I had to find a deserted place to Disapparate," Althea replied with a small sigh, "Why did you follow me?"

"Your family aren't here?" Sirius asked, ignoring her question. He looked genuinely concerned, as though the absence of her family saddened him somehow.

"No," she snapped, "Neither are yours."

"Thankfully," he laughed bitterly, "Ah, but your family and mine know each other, don't they? Old pure-bloods? Sympathetic to the Dark Lord's aims?"

"Stop," Althea closed her eyes briefly, "What do you want, Sirius?"

"I'm not telling you to join the Order, abandon everything. Just come to mine, have a drink, put your feet up, and you can go home once you've had a rest," Sirius came towards her slowly and lifted her trunk with ease, "No offence, Macnair, but you look bloody awful."

Sometimes, when Althea had spent time outside of class with Lily Evans, she had encountered Sirius Black. They had danced together at the Yule Ball last year and shared a drunken kiss towards the end of the night. That was all. Occasional flirtatious banter and the usual Hogwarts student intrigue. He had no obligation to be looking after her like this, and yet Althea felt too tired to decline his offer.

Lamely, she followed him out of the bathroom, glancing around cursorily to check they were unseen by the station workers. She felt relieved not to have to carry her trunk, and she watched appreciatively as Sirius hefted on top of his own on the trolley he'd left by the bathroom door, not even needing to put any effort into the lift. She walked beside him out of the station into a cold, rainy London evening.

Sirius looked perfectly at ease in his Muggle clothing, just as he did in his Hogwarts uniform. He found them a taxi and held the door open for Althea to climb in. She was too busy shaking rain from her old maroon beret to pay attention to the address he gave the driver.

"I had to get my own place as soon as I turned seventeen," Sirius explained, "The Potters would've kept me on, but I didn't like to take advantage of their hospitality."

"You left home when you were sixteen, didn't you?" Althea looked at him, as they sped through the streets, lights whizzing by and burning coloured blurs into her retinas.

"Yeah. It was… unbearable."

"But, don't you ever worry about your family? You've a younger brother, haven't you?"

"I have," Sirius nodded and looked her straight in the eye, "I don't worry about them. They chose the wrong side. If they come to harm because of it, that's their problem. They believe being an old pure-blood family will mean they'll land on their feet."

He spoke quietly so as to avoid being overheard by the taxi driver, who didn't seem at all interested in his two young passengers' conversation. Althea looked with wonder into Sirius's eerily dark eyes. How could he be so sure and cold about his own family? _Money, _she thought. It had given him that typical rich boy's assuredness that everything was just as he saw it, good or bad, one side or another. Everything simple and the lines clear and inked in black and white. Althea, poor and attached to her mother by a sad line of duty and debt, could see nothing but shades of grey.

"I wish I had your certainty," Althea replied honestly, turning away from Sirius and looking out of the window at the rain-smeared street. The city was unfamiliar to her, and yet she found it comforting. All those people - enough people to lose yourself in.

Eventually, they stopped in a street of anonymous, brick buildings, the houses soot-blackened and the doors peeling. It looked like a fairly dreary place to live, Althea thought, but she'd seen much worse. She had simply expected someone like Sirius to live in one of those enormous white townhouses they'd passed earlier, spending his days lounging in a high-ceilinged room beneath a chandelier dripping crystal. Instead, he dragged their trunks up a narrow flight of metal steps clinging precariously to one side of one of the houses, and let them into a small, kitchen-diner.

"Home," Sirius announced, turning on the light with a flick of his wand, "Be it ever so humble, this is where I live."

The kitchen was clean and tidy, since no one had been there since the Easter holidays, but it had the unmistakeable air of a young man's house. There were no frills or unnecessary things on display. It was utilitarian.

Althea smiled at the photographs taped to the fridge - Sirius with his friends, laughing and waving. She took off her beret and peeled off her thin, black coat. Beneath it, she wore jeans and one of her Hogwarts blouses, untucked with the sleeves rolled up. Her hair, damp from the rain, sat on her shoulders, chilling her.

"You're not in any of those. You're in one of the pictures in the living room, though," Sirius said, smiling as he followed her eyes to the photographs.

"I am?" Althea was surprised.

"Yeah. Come and see," he took her hand and led her down a narrow little hallway into a living room at the front of the flat. A squishy, comfortable-looking sofa draped in a white blanket faced a fireplace, where flames sprang to life with a wave of Sirius's wand. On the mantelpiece above it, a framed photograph stood. Sure enough, in the long row of recently-graduated seventh years, laughing and smiling, arms around each other, Althea was pictured. She looked slightly distracted in the picture, her arm around Alice Longbottom and her uniform making her blend in, "You never do much." Sirius said.

"Do you have any Floo powder?" Althea asked, ignoring the picture, "I need to tell my mum where I am."

"Help yourself," Sirius waved a hand at a dark little pot on the corner of the hearth, "I'll just go and get some drinks and stuff."

Althea was left alone. She knelt on the hearth, took a pinch of glittering powder and threw it into the flames. They turned green immediately, so she stuck her head in, wincing momentarily at the strange sensation, and called 'Grimclaw Cottage!'

A sickening whirl, and Althea found herself looking into the dreary main room of her home. Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table, which obscured Althea's view of the rest of the room. She looked up, startled, and noticed her daughter's head in the fire. Rosa Macnair was a handsome, imposing woman, with an angular face and dark, greying hair she had pinned up tightly in a bun. She wore a high-necked mauve dress which seemed to belong to a different era, and she didn't look at all impressed to see Althea's head in the fire.

"Where are you?" she asked, by way of a greeting. Her voice was accented with an old elegance quite at-odds with her shabby surroundings.

"At a friend's," Althea replied cryptically, "I'll come home soon. He just offered me something to eat and drink, and I want to be polite, so…" she trailed off.

"He, hmm?" Rosa raised an arched eyebrow, "You had better tell me exactly who he is and who his family is when you come home, young lady."

"It's not like that, Mother," Althea sighed, although her cheeks coloured slightly, "I'll be home soon." She repeated, and ducked out of the fire.

Sirius was placing two glasses of Firewhiskey and a plate of shop-bought iced cakes on the coffee table when Althea emerged and straightened up. She wondered if he'd dashed out to buy them, or whether they were ancient, lurking in back of his kitchen cupboard.

In silence, they sat and ate and drank, Althea slowing herself down - she was actually very hungry, not having had enough money to buy any food on the Hogwarts Express. The Firewhiskey was going straight to her head.

"My mother wanted to know who you were," she eventually told Sirius, grinning.

"Oh, yes? Did you explain I'm the Blacks' runaway son?" Sirius's eyes glittered with amusement.

"Hardly," Althea took a bite of cake, "The only thing that makes my mother any different to yours is a lack of money. In snobbishness, they are, I assure you, absolutely equal."

"No Muggle-born boyfriends then?"

"No," Althea confirmed with a close-mouthed smile. She'd never pursued a Muggle-born boy, or any boy for that matter. Apart from occasional and brief hook-ups with boys like Sirius, Althea's experience was limited. She didn't like to get too attached to anyone.

"So, what's the plan, Macnair?" Sirius asked after a long, heavy silence. Althea looked up from her Firewhiskey glass, startled. The light in the room seemed to have a soft, orange glow, blurring her drinking companion's edges and making him seem less than real.

"Plan? There is no plan," she replied vaguely, "Do you mean career-wise, now we've left Hogwarts?"

"Of course! Isn't that what everyone wants to know? What great things does the fantastically clever Althea Macnair have planned for the wizarding world?"

"Oh, I don't know," Althea looked down, going red again. Twice in two days she'd heard people alluding to her great potential, something she'd never really considered herself to have. People like Lily Evans had great potential - an excellent potioneer, a nice girl with a nice boyfriend, a nice, Muggle family. Althea had only a trunk full of possessions and no direction at all.

Sirius had leaned toward her on the sofa, shifting closer. His long, thin fingers had closed on her hip, warm through the thin fabric of her shirt. His mouth was close enough to hers for Althea to smell the Firewhiskey on his breath, and she could count the eyelashes framing his fathomless brown eyes.

"You should join us," Sirius said in a low, gruff voice, his lips now grazing Althea's neck, just below her ear.

"I can't," she whispered back, her hand drifting to his chest. She let her nails dig into him a little - Sirius gasped softly, "We're on different sides, Sirius." It had never seemed clearer to her than it did then - Sirius Black, beautiful, proud Sirius with his brilliant skills and brilliant friends, was set on a different path to her. He could choose to be good and noble and brave. He could die in battle, and still people wouldn't call him foolish. He was privileged and couldn't possibly understand Althea's dilemma. She felt hate, quite as strong as lust, rush to her head.

"Join the Order," he insisted, shifting so she was pulled onto his lap, one knee either side of his legs.

Her arms wrapped around his neck and her lips so close to his she could feel the heat from them, Althea whispered,

"No. My loyalty is to the Dark Lord."

With an almost-frightened sound, Sirius threw her off him. He stood up, smoothing creases out of his shirt and glaring at her. Althea stood up and made to leave, but Sirius caught her wrist and held it tight, painfully twisting it.

"You think you're such a mystery, and I get it. You're scared. You should be scared. But I _know _you, Al," he said, using her nickname in such a way that made Althea want to cry, "I know you're not a bad person, and you're sure as Hell not a Death Eater."

"You don't know anything about me," she insisted in a whisper-thin voice, pushing past him and wrenching her arm from his grip.

"No, that's right," Sirius yelled, following her into the hall, "I came and found you, remember? I followed you to that bathroom. That couldn't possibly be because I care about you, could it?"

"If you cared about me, you'd understand that I _can't _join the Order!" Althea had reached the kitchen and she turned to look at him, tears falling freely from her eyes.

"You could if you wanted to. Admit it, Althea. You're. Too. Scared."

She didn't want to argue with him anymore. She gave him a long, piercing, desperate look as her fingers found the handle of her trunk, and she Disapparated.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This story is going to contain loads of familiar characters as it goes along. I know it's quite centred on the OC right now, but bear with me. If you read it, please review. This is my first fanfic in a _long _time, so your opinion is much appreciated!**

* * *

In her fury, Althea had come out on the hill above her mother's cottage. It was dark and her feet slipped over the grass as she dragged the trunk down the slope, tears still pricking at her eyes. Rain lashed her from the side, and it wasn't until she was completely drenched to the skin that she realized she had left her coat and hat in Sirius's kitchen. This realization only made the tears come faster, and by the time she had trudged across the muddy yard to the cottage door, Althea was shaking and sobbing. She hesitated before knocking, trying to get her bearings and calm down a little.

Rosa Macnair came to let her daughter in, looking impatient, as always. She snatched the trunk from her hand and pulled her inside, shutting the door behind her.

"Get inside, girl. Heavens, you're soaked. What happened to your coat?" Rosa asked her daughter angrily.

"I left it at my friend's," Althea replied in a drear voice, "Please, Mother, stop fussing. Let me get indoors."

The room beyond the door was cluttered, with a dark grey stone floor worn to an almost shine over the years. A fire crackled in the grate, spitting and hissing, and at the other end of the room, an old grandfather clock ticked away the seconds. Wedged in between it and the large, scrubbed kitchen table was a small red armchair and a straight-backed rocking chair, facing each other. One door, almost unnoticeable in the corner beside the fire, led off to Rosa Macnair's room. At the opposite end of the room, another led to a tiny bathroom, and in the very back corner of the house, a tightly-spiralling metal staircase led to Althea's room, crammed in under the eaves. Though small and undeniably grim, the house provided Althea with a moment's relief - she'd made it home.

"Well, you'd best get that trunk upstairs," her mother commanded, and Althea let a little sigh escape her lips before she dragged and heaved and shoved the unwieldy trunk up the little staircase.

The tiny attic room was so welcome to Althea that she almost began crying again. Her bed, pushed into the very corner below the window, looked lumpy and comfortable, her blue duvet cover tucked in just the way she always left it. On the sloping, wooden ceiling were the poster of Althea's favourite band, Beryl and the Hags, a few Hogwarts notices, her seventh year timetable and a handful of photographs. She couldn't help but scowl at the one of herself and Lily, arms round each other, laughing and jumping up and down. It had been taken after the Gryffindor v. Ravenclaw Quidditch final, and the girls' opposing scarves were tangled together.

On the tiny dressing table, beside a stack of school books, were some abandoned careers advice leaflets, and Althea immediately tipped them into the bin as she began magically unpacking her trunk. It didn't take long - she didn't have that many clothes, and her other possessions all found their places easily enough.

"I left you some dinner," Althea's mother said as soon as her daughter descended the staircase. She was sitting in her rocking chair, a purple jumper knitting itself in midair in front of her.

"Thanks," Althea went over to the cauldron on the fire and fetched herself a bowl of soup from within. It smelled delicious - whatever you might say about Rosa Macnair, she was a fantastic cook. The pumpkin and carrot soup was perfectly spiced, and the freshly-baked loaf of bread sitting on the blackened bricks beside the cauldron was still warm and crispy.

"Are you pleased to have left school?" Rosa asked, as Althea sat down at the table and began to eat. The soup warmed through the awful, cold feeling she'd had since leaving Dumbledore's office the day before.

"I suppose," Althea replied. She didn't want to talk about school or anything else. She just wanted to sit in the warm and eat, undisturbed.

"And have you given any more thought to what you're going to do now you've left?" her mother's voice rose in pitch a little, and Althea realized with dread that she had been waiting to have this conversation for ages. There would be no getting out of it now, "Because you must _know _I can't afford to keep you here. What would you have me do, send you down into the village to marry some half-witted Muggle boy?"

"Mother, I-"

"Listen, someone is coming here tomorrow evening to talk to you. About a possible career path," Rosa's mouth pursed up as she spoke, and Althea knew exactly who this would be - a Death Eater. Her mother was virtually selling her to the Dark Lord, "I suggest you take his advice seriously, my girl. There can be no dithering. Not anymore."

As if in answer to Rosa Macnair's ominous words, the rain blew harder against the walls of the cottage, gathering volume until the storm was all Althea could hear. She knew that, tomorrow, she would have to decide for certain. When she'd whispered those dangerous words to Sirius in his brightly-lit living room minutes before, things had been different. She'd been playing, really. Wanting to test him, driven by lust and longing, she had tried to see if he would really stop her. He'd failed the test, she supposed. But now, in her mother's dreary house, faced with the prospect of more poverty and hardship, the question of whether or not to join the Death Eaters became a much realer one. Althea finished her soup in silence, thinking about the choice she had to make, trying desperately in her mind to think of a way out.

These thoughts pursued her after she went to bed, lying in the dark beneath the eaves of the house, listening to the dying fire in the room below and her mother's occasional humming as she fixed the hem on Althea's only decent skirt. Undoubtedly, she'd want her daughter to wear it the next evening when the Death Eater came to talk to her. Perhaps, Althea thought, it would be her uncle. He tried to avoid his poor relatives as much as possible, presumably through guilt, but he seemed the most likely candidate to come and attempt to talk Althea into a new and dangerous way of life.

Eventually, tiredness was mercifully stronger than her worries, and Althea sank into a fitful sleep. When she woke the next day, her skirt was hanging neatly over the back of the armchair, the hem repaired, and her mother was nowhere to be seen. Althea tidied up and, when her mother woke up, she did her best to cobble together some breakfast for the pair of them. There wasn't much in the house, and Althea wondered if she wouldn't have to go down into the Muggle village and attempt to steal something. It hadn't been beyond her before, when their financial situation had been really dire.

At last, the sun touched the tops of the surrounding hills, turning them gold. The rain had made the countryside beautiful and lush, and Althea wanted to go for a long walk. Her mother, however, had other plans. Rosa Macnair thrust the mended skirt at Althea and insisted she wash her hair. The Death Eater would be arriving soon.

Of course, it was Walden Macnair, Rosa's younger brother, who came, Apparating onto the the doorstep and hurrying inside the moment Rosa opened the door. Swathed in a black travelling cloak, he barely looked at Althea as he greeted the pair of them.

"Would you like some wine, Walden?" Rosa asked politely, taking his cloak and offering him the comfortable chair, "We've some excellent elf-made-"

"No, thank you," he cut across her, "I can't stay long. Business to attend to." There was a slight leer in his expression as he said this, and Althea felt a chill across her skin. What business could he possibly have? Would he kill tonight?

"You have not seen Althea since she was a child," Rosa said brightly, prodding Althea into the chair opposite her uncle's, "Just graduated from Hogwarts."

Walden Macnair finally looked at his niece. He seemed to be sizing her up, and Althea knew instinctively that she had to simply meet his gaze without flinching. Her mind raced, wondering how many Muggles he had killed, how many good wizards he had tortured for his master.

"Looking for work, I'm sure," he said slowly, still eyeing her shrewdly.

"Yes," Althea said in a flat voice.

"I can tell she is reluctant," Walden looked at his sister, his eyes snapping to her so quickly Althea was momentarily confused, "But have you explained there's no choice? Her father didn't leave the pair of you in the best situation, did he? And I'd be willing to provide for you if..." he smiled delicately and Althea felt cold all over.

"I understand the situation," Rosa replied, looking down at her daughter, "What sort of thing do you have in mind?"

"I am not at liberty to discuss that," Walden demurred, "The Dark Lord does not wish for his plans to be too public, Rosa. I can only tell you that, if Althea consents to come with me, I'll be able to pay her way. And yours."

"Go with you?" Althea spoke up now. The mention of the Dark Lord had shaken her out of her silence and she felt as if she were sliding inexorably toward something. She knew in her heart she would take what he offered, simply because being able to provide for her mother and herself was the only thing she'd ever wanted.

"Lodgings have already been arranged for you in London," Walden explained, his flint-coloured eyes flicking back to his niece, "With a family sympathetic to our cause. The Blacks."

"Sirius's family?" Althea's words came out before she could stop them.

"His aunt and uncle's, actually," Walden smiled slightly, "Cygnus and Druella Black. Their daughter, Narcissa, still lives with them."

Althea remembered Narcissa Black. She had been four years above her at Hogwarts – a beautiful, popular Slytherin girl with all the arrogance and cruelty of the average pure-blood. For a moment, Althea was happily consumed with reminiscences of her old school. It drove all thought of Walden Macnair's proposition from her mind and she felt an ache of longing settle in her stomach. She knew she would give anything to go back.

"I'll go with you," she said finally, her voice dead.

"You understand we would expect you to leave with me tonight?" Walden showed no surprise at her answer. In fact, he looked almost smug.

"Yes. Tonight. Fine," Althea looked at her mother, "I'll need to pack my things again."

Mechanically, Althea rose and went upstairs to her room. She did not stop to think; she began folding clothes back into her trunk. Only when this was done did she finally stop moving and look despairingly around her room. Was there any need to pack her other possessions? Reminders of her school friends and the life she had known up until that evening? _No, _she thought bitterly, _what is the point in remembering who I've been? _She caught sight of herself in the mirror, her hair neatly combed and her face pale and blank. _The face of a killer? _Pushing that thought firmly away, she closed her trunk and took it back downstairs.

"That was quick," Walden said, rising from the armchair. He looked almost impressed.

"Goodbye, Mother," Althea said, feeling awkward. Rosa Macnair was looking at her, her expression unfathomable, "I'll send you an owl once I'm... settled."

"Yes. Of course." Doubt flickered momentarily across Rosa Macnair's face, and Althea understood that she was not the only one struggling with the choice she had to make. It made it no easier to bear, though.

"Goodbye," Rosa said at last.

Walden Macnair took this as the signal he needed. He took Althea's arm as she clasped the handle of her trunk, and the pair of them Disapparated, Althea snatching one last look at her mother's face before blackness closed on her.


	3. Chapter 3

Macnair let go of her arm as soon as they landed on a quiet, misty London street. Here, tall, soot-blackened buildings rose up from the pavement, reminding Althea of the place where Sirius lived. She couldn't believe how cold it was, and she wished she had not packed her travelling cloak. In only her blouse, she was almost shivering.

"It's not far," Macnair said gruffly, taking hold of the handle of Althea's trunk and dragging it along, "About a ten-minute walk."

They walked down to the end of the street and emerged onto a much busier road. Cars and buses whizzed past, disorientating Althea. She was aware, as she hurried along in her uncle's wake, that there was no going back to the countryside now. This city, vast and labyrinthine as it was, was now her home. Muggles glanced at them with interest as they stopped at the crossing and headed for the other side of the road. Althea tried to ignore them.

Macnair led her up another side street, quite different to the previous one. Here, the houses were square and white, separated from the street by black iron fences, their doors gleaming and their front steps immaculate. _This _was the kind of place she could imagine Cygnus and Druella Black living. Indeed, Macnair turned two more corners and stopped outside one of the large, white houses. Instead of knocking, he ran his wand across the black paintwork in a complicated pattern and waited.

For a while, they stood in the freezing evening air. Nothing happened.

"Maybe no one is home?" Althea suggested, clamping her teeth together to stop them from chattering.

"Someone's here," Macnair said, giving nothing away.

He was right. At last, the door was pulled sharply open and Althea saw a young woman in a cream-coloured dress standing before her, long, pale hair bracketing her fine-featured face. This was Narcissa Black.

"Walden!" she said in surprise, "We were not expecting you until tomorrow. We thought-"

"Change of plan," barked Macnair with a glance at Althea, "This is my niece, Althea. May we come inside, please?"

Narcissa led them into the hallway, explaining all the while that they were busy readying themselves for dinner at her Uncle Orion's house. Althea knew that Orion Black was Sirius's father, and she felt a twinge at the thought of him, alone in his flat while his family gathered together.

"Narcissa, please return to your room and finish getting ready," there was a voice coming from the top of the stairs that interrupted Narcissa mid-sentence. Her bright smile fell and she gave Walden and Althea an apologetic look before going up the stairs, head bowed.

The voice, it became clear, had come from the girl's mother. She was descending the stairs, swathed in black satin dress robes, her beauty not yet diminished by age.

"Druella Black," she said smoothly, holding out a hand for Althea, who shook it mutely, "You are most welcome here, Miss Macnair. Unfortunately, this evening, we have an engagement, but I am sure that tomorrow we will be able to welcome you properly."

"Thank you," Althea managed. She had never seen a house as beautiful as this, or such a well-dressed family. The black-and-white checked tiles beneath her feet were spotless and gleaming, and the silver-papered walls gave the hallway an air of undisguised luxury.

"Thank you for bringing her, Walden," Druella smiled graciously at Althea's uncle, who inclined his head, "The Dark Lord will be most anxious to meet her, I know..."

Druella continued talking, but Althea's attention was caught by the sight of Narcissa's eyes gleaming through the bannister at the top of the stairs. She was crouching in the darkness, clearly listening in to every word of their conversation. At the mention of the Dark Lord, her eyes had widened. She and Althea exchanged a look, although Althea could not read the expression on Narcissa's face.

"Let me send that up to your room," Druella said to Althea, bringing her back to earth. She pointed her wand at the girl's trunk and it disappeared, "Come, I'll show you where it is. Say goodbye to your uncle, dear."

Althea was taken aback by Druella's imperious order, but she managed to say an awkward goodbye to her uncle nonetheless. He told her that she would be welcome to visit her mother whenever she wished once she was settled. Althea nodded stiffly.

Once he had Disapparated, Druella's long, pale fingers closed on Althea's wrist and she coaxed her up the stairs and along the landing. Up and up they climbed, into the very top of the large house. Behind a heavy, polished door, Druella revealed Althea's room. It was rather large, although dominated by the enormous bed with its magnificent silver counterpane and mass of pillows. A dark wardrobe faced the foot of the bed and a dressing table sat beside the long window at the opposite side of the room.

"It is not our largest room," Druella said with a hint of apology, "But I'm sure you will find it comfortable." There was knowing in her voice; clearly, she knew of the conditions in which Althea had lived with her mother.

"Thank you very much, Mrs Black," Althea said, finally finding her voice as she reached out involuntarily to touch the soft silver covers on the bed, awed, "It is very kind of you to take me in like this."

"Not at all. And, please, call me Druella. Are we not all servants of the Dark Lord now?" Druella smiled at Althea, "It is not all work either, Althea. There will be plenty of opportunity for you to, ah, make friends. I'll make sure my Narcissa looks after you."

"Your other daughter doesn't live here anymore? I remember, ah, Andromeda, is it? She was at Hogwarts when I first started there-"

"We do not see Andromeda," Druella hissed, a coldness stealing over her features that robbed her of her beauty and made her appear almost vulture-like, "She proved herself to be unworthy of the Black name. And quite unsympathetic to the aims of our master."

"Right," Althea replied quietly, "I'm sorry, I didn't know-"

"It's fine, dear," Druella waved a hand, quite friendly again, "Now, if you will excuse me, I must finish getting ready. Please, help yourself to anything you need in the kitchen. Our house-elf will serve you. If you are not awake when we return, I shall see you tomorrow."

"Enjoy your evening," Althea attempted a smile, and Druella left the room.

Althea stood in her new room, quite still and taking in her surroundings. She could almost smell the expense and luxury of everything in the bedroom, and it was quite beautiful. Maybe, she thought, allowing a small smile to steal across her face, she had made the right choice. A kind of giddiness had settled in her stomach, and she was quite dazzled by the glamour of the place.

Apprehension about her work for the Dark Lord still lingered, however. Althea began to think of ways in which she could underplay her skills in order to get out of doing anything too dangerous or awful. As she'd looked at the staring Muggles on the street minutes before, she'd realized with such certainty that she didn't want to kill them. She wanted no part in the Death Eaters' violence.

"You look rather lost," Narcissa Black was at the doorway, now towering above Althea in a pair of high-heeled shoes. Her make-up was perfect and she exuded a heady, floral scent. She was clearly ready for her evening out, "It's pretty different to Hogwarts, isn't it?"

"You could say that," Althea replied. Narcissa smiled warmly, "Narcissa, do you work... for the Dark Lord?"

"I've met him," Narcissa leaned against the doorframe, her easy elegance making Althea feel childish and awkward, "And, occasionally, I will accompany my sister on trips... but I'm not really cut out for anything too dangerous. My skills never really lay in magic."

"Your sister?" Althea raised her eyebrows, "Your mother just said your sister's been exiled or something."

"Oh, Andromeda has. I mean Bellatrix, my eldest sister. She's closest to the Dark Lord. Out of our family," a pensive look crossed Narcissa's face, "Maybe she is the closest of any of the Dark Lord's followers. And Lucius, of course, takes a much more prominent role than me..." Narcissa smiled.

"Lucius Malfoy?" Althea remembered him from Hogwarts, too.

"Yes. My boyfriend," Narcissa blushed slightly, "I believe he's going to propose soon. Maybe even tonight. I hope so. I can't wait to get away from..." she trailed off, glancing nervously at Althea.

"You should probably go downstairs," Althea tried to put everything into her tone that she felt – she knew Narcissa was about as enthusiastic about the Dark Lord's aims as she was, and she wanted her to understand that she felt the same way, "Your parents are probably waiting."

"Yes. Of course," Narcissa nodded slowly, "Goodnight, Althea. I'll come and see you when I get back, alright?"

"Alright," Althea watched her leave and stood, alone, in her new room.

Sirius had called her fantastically clever. Dumbledore had referred to her potential. Althea knew she had to make a place for herself, and she was also slowly realizing that she was not going to allow the Dark Lord to manipulate her, as her mother had done and as everyone else had tried to do. _Now I'm here, _she thought, _I'm going to make my own way. _


	4. Chapter 4

Light was spilling into the room from the long window. Althea blinked as she woke up, disorientated and feeling quite tired. Had she really slept all night? She couldn't even remember getting into bed. Indeed, as she sat up, she realized she was on top of the blankets, still dressed in the sad excuse for a smart outfit her mother had picked out the day before. There was a foul taste in her mouth and a horrible ache in her head. Narcissa had not come to see her as she'd promised, or maybe she had, but had left at the sight of Althea, passed out on her bed. Althea cringed at the thought.

She got up, stretched and tried to feel slightly better. On the dressing table, she noticed a small piece of paper. Picking it up, she read it quickly.

_Althea,_

_You were asleep when I came back last night, so I left you. Mother said Bellatrix is coming later, and she'll introduce you to the Dark Lord. I wish you luck. I'll be out all day, but feel free to use my owl for any letters you want to send._

_See you tonight!_

_Cissy_

_PS. Lucius proposed!_

Althea smiled at the note. Narcissa seemed like an unlikely friend, but Althea knew that she needed all the friends she could get. Lily Evans and Sirius Black, two people she'd counted as friends, now hated her.

An idea quickly entered her mind. She could use Narcissa's owl to send a note to Sirius! Surely it would know how to find him, as he was a relative of its owner. Deciding that she would rather do this unseen by Druella or Cygnus, she quickly dug in her trunk for parchment and a quill and wrote a brief letter to him.

_Sirius,_

_I'm writing to say I'm sorry about the other day. Please don't hate me. I do what I have to. I hope you, of all people, will understand that. I'm in London now and I'd like to see you if I get a chance. If you want to see me, that is. I really am sorry. _

_Althea_

Rolling up the parchment and sealing it with her wand, Althea went out onto the landing and down a flight of stairs. She wasn't sure which room was Narcissa's, so she pushed open a door at random, opening it slowly. The room within was dark, heavy purple curtains pulled across the windows. Its bed was neatly made and Althea knew this couldn't be the right room. The bed hadn't been slept in in a while. Her eye was drawn by the large mahogany desk, and a large, black box sitting atop it, its lid inlaid with blood-red stones. Checking to see if anyone was on the landing, Althea went into the room and crossed to the desk. Her hand was pale against the dark box, its stones glinting in the semidarkness.

Curiosity made her open it. Inside, she found lots of cuttings from the _Daily Prophet, _along with a few letters tied with a black silk ribbon. The cuttings all pertained to the doings of the Dark Lord, and Althea felt a shiver across her skin. To see someone hoarding tales of gruesome murders as if they were something to be proud of made her feel quite sick. She let the box close with a soft thud, noticing the neatly-stacked books that also sat on the desk. Althea lifted the top one – a fine, leather-bound book, its title inscribed in silver – _Secrets of the Darkest Art. _On the inside of cover, words were written in spiky black handwriting: _For Bellatrix, the only person to whom I would ever give this book. _

So this room, filled with an aura of dark magic and containing a lovingly-kept record of the Dark Lord's most dreadful activities, belonged to the eldest Black daughter. Althea knew she shouldn't be in there, so she hurried to the door, checking carefully once more to make sure no one was there.

The room on the opposite side of the landing was Narcissa's. It was obvious from the frilly white pillows and the array of clothes hanging on the wardrobe doors. Inside a gilded cage, Althea found her owl, tied the note to Sirius to its leg and sent it out of the window.

As she left the room, she bumped into Druella. Gasping, she stammered,

"I- I was- I just had to send a note to my mother. Narcissa said I could borrow her- her owl."

Druella Black looked deep into Althea's face, her expression impassive.

"Of course," she said blankly, "I hope you slept well, Althea."

"Yes, thank you."

"My daughter, Bellatrix, is coming here later. She will take you to the Dark Lord so you can begin your induction," Druella's lip curled as she looked disdainfully at her, "Perhaps you could borrow something to wear?"

"If you think that would be best," Althea replied, making her face a mask. Druella nodded and went off to find something. Feeling as though she'd had a lucky escape, Althea went downstairs to find some breakfast.

Later, when she'd eaten, had a bath and washed her hair, Althea dressed in the fine silk robes Druella found for her. They were black, more formal and decorative than her school robes had ever been, and Althea wondered to whom they belonged. Both Narcissa and Druella were far taller than her.

Bellatrix arrived in the late afternoon, as Althea was sitting in the drawing room for a rather awkward tea with Druella. As soon as she entered the room, Althea felt a spreading sense of fear. Bellatrix was even taller than her mother, her black hair very beautiful, if slightly wild. She looked down her nose at Althea, who did her best to hold her gaze, thinking about Legilimency and all the deeds done by Bellatrix in the name of the Dark Lord. She was almost as infamous in the wizarding world as her master.

"The Dark Lord's headquarters are not far from here," Bellatrix explained, "We will be Apparating straight there."

"What should I expect?" Althea asked.

"He probably has never heard of you and won't much care who you are," Bellatrix sneered, "Come on."

Her sharp fingers closed round Althea's arm, and they Disapparated. Extremely off-balance, Althea almost fell when they emerged from the crushing darkness, steadying herself against a wall. She blinked and realized they were in a dark tunnel. The wall her hand was touching was rough and slightly damp, and the air had a strangely old and stale smell.

"Where are we?" she asked shakily.

"It is a disused part of the Muggles' Cabinet War Rooms," Bellatrix set off along the tunnel, not even looking at Althea, who followed, almost running to keep up, "Central London is convenient. And the Dark Lord has a sense of irony."

So above them, Muggle London was filled with bustling people, tourists and workers, cars and buses, while the greatest threat to their safety lay in wait below the very heart of Britain's Muggle government. Althea wanted to be sick. She was terrified and disgusted in equal measure, but she quickly realized that her hands were not shaking.

They emerged into a large, dimly-lit room, where a highly-polished table had been placed among many old crates and sacks. Its chairs were mismatched, half of them unoccupied, but sitting at the head of the table in the grandest chair was Voldemort himself.

"Ah, Bellatrix," he said, his voice a slick hiss, "You've come at last. Good. Please, sit."

"My lord, I've brought our newest recruit with me," Bellatrix approached him quickly, her voice filled with undisguised eagerness, her hand still gripping Althea's arm, "This is Macnair's niece, Althea."

"Walden's poor relation," Voldemort's eyes flicked to Althea, his face expressionless but his tone slightly mocking, "Just out of Hogwarts, are you?"

"Yes, my lord," Althea said, keeping her mind deliberately blank. She had never been trained in Occlumency, but she knew the principles, and her unwillingness to allow the Dark Lord into her mind had to count for something.

"But my old friend Albus Dumbledore must have anticipated your chosen career choice! Did you speak with him about it?" Voldemort watched her closely.

"Yes, my lord. He asked me to join the Order of the Phoenix," Althea replied.

"And you, of course, declined," Voldemort smiled slightly as if remembering a private joke, "Sit."

Althea sat next to Bellatrix in a hard wooden chair.

"You will have an opportunity to prove yourself, Althea. Tonight, you will go to the Ministry of Magic and remove a certain obstacle from our path. An Auror called Leftwich who has recently declared his allegiance to the Order," Voldemort explained calmly, "Malfoy, you will accompany her."

A pale-faced blonde man halfway down the table looked up. Althea recognized him as Lucius Malfoy – Narcissa's fiancé.

"I, my lord?" he sounded slightly incredulous.

"Do you consider this task below you, Lucius?" Voldemort asked silkily.

"Not- not at all, my lord!"

"Then it shall be done," Voldemort turned back to Althea, "Shall it not?"

"Yes, my lord." As the conversation continued around her, Althea wondered who Leftwich was and if he had any inclination that he would die that very evening. She wondered if, in shutting off her mind from the Dark Lord's penetration, she would lose her mind entirely, as well as her soul.


End file.
